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There is a house in New Orleans They call the Risin' Sun. Been the ruin of a many a poor gal, And me, oh, God, I'm one! If I'd a-listened what mama said I'd a-been at home today. Being so young and foolish, poor boy, I let a gambler lead me astray.
My mother, she's a tailor, She sewed those new blue jeans. My sweetheart, he's a drunkard, Lord, Drinks down in New Orleans.
The only thing a drunkard needs Is a suitcase and a trunk; The only time he's satisfied Is when he's on a drunk.
Fills his glasses to the brim, Passes them around, The only pleasure that he gets out of life Is a-hoboin' from town to town.
Go tell my baby sister Never do like I have done, To shun that house in the New Orleans That they call the Risin' Sun!
One foot's on the platform, The other on the train, I'm going back to New Orleans To wear that ball and chain.
Going back to New Orleans, My time is almost done; Going back to spend my life Beneath that Rising Sun.
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